


My soul is painted

by Mossgreen



Series: 2770 ab urbe condita [18]
Category: 2770 ab urbe condita - Fandom, Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ancient Rome, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Genderbending, Implied/Referenced Blow Jobs, M/M, Makeup, Master/Slave, Sexual Slavery, Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-09-20 06:29:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17017491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mossgreen/pseuds/Mossgreen
Summary: Ven's trying make-up for the first time. Master's reaction is... perhaps predictable.This follows on immediately fromLike wings of butterflies, and I have reordered the series so it is the very next episode.





	My soul is painted

His master's footsteps went quiet, deadened by the carpet as he came towards Ven, who was kneeling on the rug in the middle of the room. 

"Perfume? Kneel up, boy."

Ven knelt up, keeping his eyes lowered, more than aware that doing so just showed off the painted lids.

"And make-up... just like a proper _concubīnus_. Very pretty."

 _One_ of the knots of tension in Ven's belly loosened, fractionally. 

"Not, I think, suitable for a business meeting with the more... strait-laced sorts."

Ven glanced down, then up, looking at his master through his eyelashes. Apparently wearing make-up was bringing out his flirtatious side – that could either be very good, or very bad, and he wasn't sure which. "You have strait-laced citizens making business deals with Phallusy, Master?"

"You little coquet! And surprisingly, yes. We don't just sell toys, you know, and who knows what people may choose to do with those if they buy them anyway. Not that that is any of your business." He tapped Ven on the nose, making him look down.

"Sorry, Master."

"What made you do it, anyway?"

"I... hoped it might please you, Master. If it didn't, I could wash it off and that would be it."

"I suppose Rosia gave the stuff to you. She asked whether I would allow you to receive a gift from her."

Ven's eyes flickered back up to his master's face in surprise. "You didn't ask what the gift was, Master?"

"No. Perhaps I should have." The smile ghosting over his master's face made that knot of tension loosen another fraction.

Other owners would have, Ven was sure. It was somewhat surprising that his master hadn't, though in an unusually pleasant way. He wasn't entirely sure whether that spoke of a trust in Rosia, or in himself – probably the former, as Rosia was a free woman. 

He looked down. The colour in his cheeks had nothing to do with cosmetics; he had only applied paints to his eyes and a little to his lips. "And... well... it pleases my master to take me to meetings as your secretary, and to use me as your _cinaedus_ while there. People underestimate _concubīni_ all the time. I thought... I hoped, it might work to your advantage if people from outside Phallusy thought that's all I was."

That brought reproof in the form of a firm smack to his head. "Do not be impudent, boy. I will tell you when I require a slave to think for me."

Ven bowed his head as the knot in his stomach tightened again. "I beg your pardon, Master." 

To add that he had not intended to be impudent would not help; he had been _perceived_ to be impudent, therefore he had _been_ impudent. It was Master's thoughts and impressions that mattered, after all, not Ven's intentions.

Master's hand fisted in his hair, pulling back to lift Ven's face to him again. "It looks very pretty, boy. I like it – not as a regular thing, but on occasion. Close your eyes."

Ven's immediate reaction was to look up, momentarily meeting his master's eyes, searching for danger signals. The eye-contact lasted a split-second and he obeyed the order before Master could get angry and accuse him of being disobedient.

"What colour would you call it?" Master asked, sounding curious, though Ven didn't dare open his eyes to see his expression.

"Wine, Master. Well, dark red."

"Hmm."

Ven blinked once, closing his eyes again. "May I... may I show you, Master?"

"Yes." The hand released his hair.

Ven opened his eyes and got to his feet, retrieving the eye-shadow he had chosen, and the maroon shades he hadn't, kneeling again before holding them out to his master, who turned both compacts over to read the colour names on the back. "This one's called Vinum, Master, and that's Imperial."

"Pretty colour. Suits you."

Ven looked down. "Thank you, Master." 

He caught his lip between his teeth, and Master pressed his finger there. "Don't do that, you'll get lipstick on your teeth."

Ven opened his mouth to apologise and found himself sucking on his master's finger instead. 

"If you think I am going to waste my money on one of those tiny sheer so-called 'silk' tunics, and let you lounge around in my bed all day, you are seriously mistaken, pet."

He glanced up at the amused indulgent tone in his master's voice, to find a similarly amused expression on his master's face. 

"You really are a very pretty boy, Ven. Not that you need the make-up for that, though it enhances all your best features. The ones on your face, anyway." Master's foot nudged against Ven's prick under the hem of his short tunic and Ven coloured hotly at the insinuation, but made no attempt to reply, though with his master's finger in his mouth, replying wasn't an option.

"Expertly applied, too – did you do it yourself?"

The finger was removed from Ven's mouth, allowing him to speak. "Yes, Master."

Master crossed the room to sit down in his chair and Ven hastened to remove his outdoor shoes for him and begin the routine of washing his master's feet.

"Have you worn make-up much?"

"No, Master. My master knows I wasn't... that I hadn't..."

"Yes."

There was silence for a moment, broken by the gentle splashing of water as Ven washed and dried his master's feet.

"My day-robe, I think, for now, pet," Master said as Ven finished and went to discard the dirty water.

"Yes, Master."

The garment in question was a loose wrap-around tunic, knee-length, that tied with a simple cotton sash. Ven fetched it, helping his master into it and disposing of his tunic in the laundry hamper.

Master sat down again, letting his knees fall open, the robe barely preserving his modesty. "You have a problem, pet," he said eventually.

Ven looked worried at that announcement. "Master?"

"I want to fuck that sweet, pretty painted mouth of yours, pet. I want to fuck your face until you are panting and crying, choking on my cock, that perfect make-up job smeared and ruined, and then I want to paint your face with my seed."

Ven swallowed and Master reached for the ties of his robe, letting it fall open to show his erect prick.

"What are you waiting for, pet? Get your pretty painted mouth to work."

**Author's Note:**

> Notes: the term 'strait-laced' comes from the Victorian era of ladies in tight corsets, when the pinnacle of beauty ideals was a man being able to put his hands around a woman's waist and have his fingers touch. Being Victorian, of course, it can't be a Roman (even a 21st century Roman) term. So... deliberate anachronism!
> 
> 'Vinum' literally means 'wine'. I was going to call it 'Falernian' except that was a white wine, not a red wine, so bang goes that idea! And I couldn't come up with a Latinised name for any of our modern red varieties of wine. Maroon is slightly more purple than a burgundy colour is, so I'm going with the idea that a modern Imperial purple is a maroon shade, where Ven and his compatriots wear a dark wine-red livery (now, after this fic's set) based on the shade of eye-shadow Ven used here.


End file.
